Puzzle Piece
by the.thirteenth.doctors
Summary: There's only so many times you can shoot a smiley face... Sherlock decides to give Moriarty a call ;) Rated M, just in case. Sheriarty. NOT FOR MARTHA.


(A.N. For Kerenza, because she's sick of all the abusive/incapacity to have emotions type Sheriarty fics xx)

WARNING! No actual sex, though it's pretty close... Rated M to be safe. Not for the eyes of the innocent! Don't like, don't read.

Sherlock is bored.

Mind numbingly, twitchily, yawningly bored.

He's tried shooting the wall. Once you hit a smiley face three dozen times in the eye it gets tiring.

He's tried calling Lestrade.

Apparently the incompetent baboons the DI employs are capable of solving a few crimes without his genius. He'll have to wait until something interesting up...

He's tried using the different chemicals left over from yesterday's experiments to create a new combination of toxins...

Unfortunately, this only succeeded in painting his nose a peculiar shade of yellow, destroying a boiling tube, and shattering a conical flask into several large pieces that managed to stab their way into his feet... (Of all the days to have gone barefoot...)

Finally, he gives up. Searching through the pockets of the jacket he had worn the last time they had met (it still smelt not unpleasantly of chlorine and a musky, spicy scent that he recognised as men's cologne, not his or John's...) Screwed up into a tiny wad of paper, was a piece to a puzzle. The puzzle being James Moriarty. Sherlock fully intended to solve him; the sooner, the better. Gingerly, the consulting detective prised the folded corners of paper apart, revealing a name and number written in a casual, almost feminine hand, blue Biro ink. Ambidextrous, Sherlock decided. Favours the right hand to write. Jim. Written above the looping digits, almost flirting, teasing him with the dot of the "i" replaced with a tiny blue heart. Sherlock resisted the childish urge to laugh at the daring charm of his adversary. Oh, Jim...

He hated phone calls. He much preferred to text. Less contact required. More precise. Only this, this was an exception. Sherlock sighed and keyed in the number. He noted a "666" in the contact detail at the end which made him smile, if only briefly. He paused. What should he save it under? Jim? Moriarty? Jim, too personal. Moriarty, far too formal. James was nice. A good blend of both. Sherlock tapped in "James", before saving the contact. He hesitated before placing his finger decidedly on the call button. Jim picked up on the third ring. He sounded distracted, absentminded. "Is this Molly again? Please leave me alone, dear, I told you it wouldn't work out." He sighed almost sleepily in his soft Irish accent. Sherlock tried to ignore the burning, gnawing feelings -anger? Jealousy?!- towards that Molly for the "dear" Jim had so casually graced her with. He exhaled slowly. "Jim. It's me." Straight, blunt, to the point. Perfect. Jim snickered. "Oh, hello, Sherley~ Jealous?" Surprise was evident in Sherlock's voice as he answered. "What are you on about, James?" He pronounced his - what, enemy? Nemesis? Ally? Undecided, he filed him under "contact" - contact's name with slight contempt. Jim sighed. "Sher~lock. You have been silly." Sherlock felt confused, which was a rare occurrence. He stayed silent, listening intently for any clues his contact might accidentally reveal. Moriarty sighed. "Sherlock," he drawled. Without awaiting an answer, he went on. "If you don't have anything exciting to tell me -" "Like what?" The consulting detective cut in. His contact giggled. "Oh, you are still there. Like, I don't know, like what you're wearing or that John will be at his girlfriend - whichever one it is now's - house until tomorrow evening, or something interesting..." Sherlock shivered as he heard Moriarty almost moan the last word. "Well, you already know both of those facts." Moriarty tutted. "Yes, yes. It sounds much sweeter coming from your... lips..." Sherlock growled in frustration. Was the bastard deliberately trying to seduce him? Jim just gave another one of those breathy giggles. "Where are you?" Sherlock almost yelled.

There was a pause. Sherlock could hear him, or someone else, moving about. A breeze. The clunk of metal on wood. An odd scraping. Sherlock heard Jim's voice, but it did not come from his phone."I'm outside, climbing. Knocking is so boooooooring..." Sherlock was startled, but he did not let it show through. "Oh, really?" The silhouette of his contact appeared on the outdoor windowsill. Sherlock quickly opened it to let him in. Jim rolled through the window, mission impossible style. He was wearing another dark blue suit, this time the black tie was lightly embossed with little black hearts. Snow dusted his knees, elbows and shoes. His hair was full of the stuff; white icy fluff mixed in with the dark brown, letting it flop slightly into his eyes. He had a card and a huge bunch of flowers in his mouth, white teeth sinking slightly into the pale green stems. His hands were as cold and white as the snow coating him. Sherlock reached over him to shut the window, and he removed the gifts from his contact's mouth with his other hand. Jim gave him a playful smirk at this. He shivered and yanked off the jacket of his suit. Sherlock gaped. "W-what are you doing?" Moriarty rolled his eyes. In a plaintive falsetto he whined, "Darling, you don't except a laaaaaaaady to freeze to death in your flat, do you?" Sherlock scowled. In a more normal voice his contact continued, "You weren't expecting me to do a striptease were you?" Sherlock continued to scowl. Jim giggled. "I'm glad you have such a high opinion of me..." He fingered the top button of his pale blue shirt thoughtfully. Sherlock smirked at him. Jim leaned forward. Sherlock was abruptly aware that their faces were only inches apart. He almost flinched as Jim licked the tip of his nose, tongue darting out like a snake.

The consulting detective's eyes widened. Jim chuckled softly. "Your nose was yellow." He wrinkled up his face. "Tastes horrible..." Sherlock had forgotten about the toxins on his nose. "Quick! Wash out your mouth!" His contact raised an elegant eyebrow. Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Stop it. That was poison from my experiment earlier, you idiot!" He just laughed. "Sherleeeeeey~ you silly, I'm immune to most toxins. A little poison a day builds up a resistance." Sherlock made a small noise that if directed at any other would be seen as disgust. Moriarty could easily interpret his moods, however, and knew that it was disguised relief. To change the subject, he settled himself down into one of the chairs. "That's John's seat," Sherlock mused. Moriarty grinned like a shark. "Welllllll. Are you going to come and... punish me?" Sherlock sucked in his breath. He hadn't been quite sure about what he'd wanted when he'd called Jim. Now he knew what Jim wanted, he was caught between anxiety and the lust and thrill of the idea. He looked at his contact - no, no, too formal. Opponent? Partner? Equal? Sherlock gazed into the playfully defiant dark eyes of James Moriarty. He smiled when he saw a little of the same anxiety reflected back at him. Slowly, carefully, he closed the space between them. Jim's pupils dilated, filling the chocolate whorls of the iris with inky black. He realised his own blue-grey eyes must be doing the same. Sherlock looped Jim's arms around his shoulders. The consulting criminal was unresisting; his breathing was becoming heavier, chest moving up and down faster through his shirt clad torso. Imitating the predatory smirk Jim had worn earlier, Sherlock pressed closer, dragging his hips experimentally over the other man's thigh. This prompted a tiny squeak from Moriarty, encouraging Sherlock with other... chemical experiments.

The consulting detective was surprised at how little of a fight the other man put up, especially by the time he had reduced his adversary to a whimpering, gasping mess of huge dark eyes and slivers of tempting pale skin peeking out of the gap between his shirt and trousers. Sherlock smirked and kissed Moriarty with all the hunger and excitement he usually reserved for his cases. He began to create a formula in his head of the amount of mouth pressure needed to make the criminal genius soon discovered that it was equal parts lick, suck and bite, divided by the total amount of mouth pressure. Mathematics had never been more enjoyable, he mused as Moriarty arched his back like a cat and mewled similarly, digging the "claws" of his fingernails into Sherlock's back and through his shirt. The consulting detective drew back and just looked at his adversary. James was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly through his shirt. Sherlock had never hated a garment more. He wanted that shirt on the floor, he wanted to see flesh, to touch skin... Moriarty smirked, pushing away the hair that fell carelessly into his eyes. Through his laboured breathing, he still managed to drawl, "Not bad... For a virgin." Sherlock growled low in his throat and moved to attack his mouth again. He stopped for a second, admiring the imprint in the full lower lip. Blood blossomed from the incisions his teeth had made, precise and perfect, breaking the otherwise unmarred flesh. He gently ran his tongue over the blood. Moriarty giggled. For a split-second, Sherlock knew what he was doing, he was in control. Then Jim's hips twisted savagely, and he was abruptly pinned against the armchair's cushions by the suddenly much stronger younger man. Said man ran his eyes - all child-like wonder and beautiful vast pupils - over Sherlock hungrily, taking in every little detail. With his hair in his face and the breath knocked out of him, Sherlock gazed through half lidded eyes up at him. "Gorgeous", Jim breathed. He leaned down, tracing his tongue slowly over Sherlock's lips. They parted immediately and he smirked, finding his own winning strategy in the game. As Jim's tongue tickled his teeth, Sherlock snaked warm hands up the back of his shirt, coming into contact with his still icy skin from the winter weather. He shivered, holding on tighter to the taller man as his hands drew slow looping numbers over his exposed spine. Moriarty shuddered at the heat emanating from his partner's fingers. Sherlock chuckled darkly, drawing the snow and sweat soaked shirt over his head. "If you rip that, I'll make you pay..." Jim threatened softly. Sherlock smirked and slowly, deliberately tore it in half. "Oops." The sarcasm practically dripped from his mouth. Moriarty raised a perfect eyebrow. "Well, then. It seems, Mr. Holmes, we have a difficulty to settle." His voice was deadly calm, though his face was grinning. "Go on, then, Mr. Moriarty. We'll soon see how this disagreement can be sorted." Sherlock replied, equally jokingly. Was he, Sherlock Holmes, flirting?! It seemed impossible. Then again, french-kissing your supposed great enemy was not a thing expected of a person, was it? Not in normal society, anyway. Then again, normal and Sherlock never saw eye to eye. Moriarty's lustful gaze turned to a smirk of triumph. "Well, I do think we ought to start with that shirt. It's an absolute disgrace." Sherlock groaned, before allowing him to tug the dark purple garment over his head. "You sound like my mother..." Moriarty howled with laughter. "I'm taking your clothes off and you're thinking of your mother?!" Sherlock grinned up at him. "If you like, my dear..." At this, Moriarty pouted. "Such a naughty, naughty boy..." Each word prompted a poke in Sherlock's chest. He winced slightly. Although perfectly manicured and masculine, Moriarty's killer nails were not to be messed with. Sherlock grabbed his hands with a growl of impatience. "Will you stop playing around and get on with it?" He sighed. "How rude." Moriarty pouted, poking Sherlock one last time. "But... For you, I suppose I could make an exception, Mr. Holmes..." Sherlock smiled wryly. "You'd better, Mr Moriarty." Wrapping his legs around Moriarty's waist, he pushed against him, drawing a gasp from the man above. "You devious little - Ahhh!" Sherlock pinched his chest experimentally. "Are you sure you haven't done this before?" Sherlock smirked. "Quite sure." He commented cheerfully."Well, little sluts like you deserve to be punished," There was a sadistic pleasure gleaming in Moriarty's eye as he growled out the words. Sherlock swallowed. Regaining his composure, he smirked at the younger man on top. "Oh, really, dear?" "Oh, yes..." Moriarty purred, slicing a scarlet stripe down Sherlock's chest with a deadly nail. Sherlock inhaled sharply. "And how are you going to do that?" Moriarty laughed breathlessly. "Oh, my darling Sherley... Like this, of course..." Moriarty shoved his torso hard against Sherlock's, forcing him back further, so he was almost lying down. "Jim..." Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Oh, please do be quiet. You're ruining my revenge plan." Moriarty smiled slowly to himself as he reached for Sherlock's belt. The consulting detective drew in a breath at the gesture. He curled his fingers around the buckle, loosening it from the belt loops. Jim grinned. "Hands up, baby," he drawled. Sherlock giggled as his hands were clasped within the grip of his own belt. Jim pushed him back a little further. "Now..." He teased. "How about a little silence while I work?" Sherlock laughed. "I think that would be wise, Mr. Moriarty."

Moriarty leaned back over him and traced his tongue gently over his lips. Sherlock grinned and used his kissing formula. They kissed softly for a while, until Sherlock grew impatient and pressed closer to deepen the kiss. Immediately, Moriarty's hands were everywhere. Sliding over his back, tracing over his sides, slipping past his hips... Sherlock's breath caught in his throat, which seemed to amuse Moriarty, who began rubbing his hips further up his thigh, until he whimpered in ecstasy. "Moriarty..." He moaned into the younger man's mouth. He could feel him grinning into the manic mash their lips had become. "Yes, Sherley, dear?" Though his breathing was as laboured as Sherlock's, he (infuriatingly) still managed to retain an air of casual indifference. "J-J-Jim!" Now he had taken to sliding their hips together, crashing into the back of the armchair. "Jim - ahhh! M-Moriarty!" "Yes, darling?" Sherlock gasped. "Moriarty!" He yelped. "Beg, my dear, beg!" Sherlock howled as Moriarty shoved him harder, grinding faster. "MORIARTY!"

Suddenly, the consulting criminal was on the floor sprawling. Sherlock leapt up from the chair in protest. A man in a dark snow caked raincoat was beating - was that a dictionary? - down on Moriarty. Ignoring the ache of his muscles, Sherlock pounded the mystery attacker in the back of the head. The man collapsed to the ground. Sherlock grabbed Jim and shoved him back in the chair. Then he turned back to the assassin. The man rolled over, hands above his head. Then Sherlock stared and he gaped back. "John?!" Doctor Watson had a rather lovely magenta inflamed patch on his cheek, courtesy of Moriarty, and Sherlock was sure he displayed a similar coloured one on the top of his back, thanks to Sherlock. John sat up slowly, rubbing his cheek. He glared accusingly at his flatmate. "Ow." He said sourly. "What are you doing here?" Sherlock was aghast. "Well, Mara - Louise - no, Jennifer, broke up with me, so I came back home. What is he doing here?! I thought you were being attacked!" Sherlock and Moriarty glanced at each other sheepishly. Their gaze wordlessly asked who was going to tell him. Neither chose to. They had to admit it had looked bad, still did... Both men were shirtless and sweating, there were long, bloody scratches on both of their backs, and their lips were bruised and swollen. Sherlock's hands were still bound behind his back and Moriarty's hair was no longer swept back. It fell into his face and was disheveled, similar to the condition of Sherlock's. John's eyes slowly widened as he realised. "Oh, GOD, Sherlock! That's MY armchair!" He stood up cautiously, shaking his head as if to get rid of any unpleasant images that presented themselves to his mind. He backed away towards the door. "Uh, I'll just, um, go out tonight, shall I?" Sherlock breathed out slowly, relieved. He nodded wordlessly. "Yes, I think that would be best." Moriarty added, smirking at Watson. "See you tomorrow, bye bye!" The criminal waved him away and he walked back towards the door. John's face drained of all colour as Sherlock moved back to where Moriarty still lay back on the armchair. He leaned over the psychotic genius and delivered a swift kiss to each of the places where the dictionary had landed. John's mouth hung open in astonished silence. Sherlock looked up. "John. Goodbye!" Speechless, the doctor shut the door behind him and walked downstairs, feeling numb. He'd never have expected anything like that from his (supposedly) asexual sociopathic best friend. On the armchair, Moriarty's breathing returned to normal. Sherlock grinned and wiggled his bound wrists. "Well, Mr. Moriarty, I do think that my punishment is in order..." Jim flicked Sherlock's nose playfully. "Hey, it's still a bit yellow..." Sherlock pouted slightly, closing the small space between them. Jim smiled and reached to unbuckle the belt securing his arms. Sherlock allowed the deft fingers to close around his wrists, releasing his hands. He ran his fingers through the criminal's dark hair, fingers knotting and gently tangling within the still damp strands. Jim reached up to press a soft kiss to his lover's warm full lips. He pulled away before Sherlock could retaliate, stroking a pale finger over the unmarked top lip. "I like your mouth..." He commented in that same lilting drowsy voice he'd answered the phone with. "Especially the cupid's bow," He slowly traced his index finger over it, smiling as Sherlock shivered at his touch. "So deliciously sexy..." Sherlock pushed him back into the chair. "Jim... I... I want- I need-" Moriarty clamped his hand down over the consulting detective's mouth. "Nah. I'm tired now." He yawned. He rolled over, pinning Sherlock beneath him. He gazed into the icy blue depths of his eyes for a second. Then he was up on his feet, stretching out his arms and fake yawning. Sherlock raised his eyebrows. "James, what are you doing?" The criminal mastermind gave him a beautiful beaming child-like smile. "Are you coming Sherley?" Was his only reply. He headed in the direction of Sherlock's bedroom. The detective wasn't quite sure whether to be disturbed or amused by the fact that Moriarty knew exactly which room was his. He decided to be amused, swinging himself out of the chair and following him through the doorway. Jim lay on his side, facing Sherlock. He was lying on the side of the bed Sherlock refused to sleep on. More of a vulnerable position in case of an attack. Of course, Jim knew this and was most likely exploiting this fact. Sherlock got in beside him and looked at him expectantly. Jim merely offered him an adorable smile, closed his eyes and snuggled up next to him. This trusting gesture did odd fluttering things to Sherlock's stomach and he wrapped his arms around the mastermind beside him. Jim sighed happily and leaned into him. "James? Are you actually going to sleep?" Moriarty frowned, a tiny crease Sherlock hadn't noticed when his eyes were open appearing between the two sharp eyebrows. "I thought that we were going to -" Moriarty tutted and shushed him. "Plenty of time for that, later. But now I'm tired. So shut up." Sherlock rolled his eyes, holding the younger man closer. Jim snuffled slightly in content. The consulting detective smiled and pressed a light kiss to his intellectual equal's forehead. After a couple of minutes in silence, Sherlock peered down at the smaller man. Jim's eyes were closed tight and his breathing was steady. Said intellectual equal had apparently fallen asleep on him. The detective was, of course, suspicious, however when Moriarty was poked, he just snuffled and snuggled closer, mumbling something that sounded an awful lot like "Love you Sherlock".The next thing Sherlock knew, he was waking up from the best night of sleep he'd had since he could remember, in a bizarrely good mood; a sleepy master criminal in his arms and a swollen, painfully tender mouth.

If being bored resulted in this, he'd have to put up with it more often...

(Well, how was my first attempt at more graphic stuff? I hope you liked it. Please review, and tell me whether I should ever consider writing anything like this again, or if it is STRICTLY FORBIDDEN.)


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